


filled hearts

by LetMeLeadForever



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Boys In Love, Childhood Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeLeadForever/pseuds/LetMeLeadForever
Summary: Spock was a moon freckled with green, fading below the Earthly sunlight; from their first meeting, it was explicitly clear to James that he didn’t belong in Iowa. He knew little of Vulcan, even less of their people, but he couldn’t imagine him existing among a people who tied their emotions into neat boxes and allowed them to fester. The other boy seemed destined to fill the places between the two planets, stuck in a dual orbit without ever taking rest.Jim longed to join him.





	filled hearts

**Author's Note:**

> just a childhood friends au with these two nerds being nerds and in love

Spock was a moon freckled with green, fading below the Earthly sunlight; from their first meeting, it was explicitly clear to James that he didn’t belong in Iowa. He knew little of Vulcan, even less of their people, but he couldn’t imagine him existing among a people who tied their emotions into neat boxes and allowed them to fester. The other boy seemed destined to fill the places between the two planets, stuck in a dual orbit without ever taking rest.

“What are you doing?” Said moon stood before Kirk, delicate shoulders spreading like wings to block out the sun. The oppressive Southern heat had forced James into shorts and a sleeveless shirt, but Spock didn’t even flinch in his black dress (later, Kirk would be corrected into calling them ‘robes’, but he still wasn’t convinced).

The tone of his voice, a low warbling sound, showed two things: he was not yet used to speaking in English, and he was being forced into friendliness. A vision stood in the distance of the playground, eyes boring into Spock’s back as if encouraging him forward. He seemed to need the push.

“Hacking.” With all the pride of a child not used to having his hobbies asked about, he lifted the smooth black box toward the other boy. He was met with the slight narrowing of eyes, the scrunching of his pale nose. James thought it was cute.

The box had shone in the sunlight, but now Spock acted as a barrier, dulling the gleam. Nothing identifiable showed on the outside, completely barren apart from the red wire that had spiralled out. Kirk ran his fingers over it to showcase the escaped wire, proudly. Spock reached out, as if touching it would reveal why so much pride resonated in the item, but Kirk drew it back sharply. Whether it was to stop his sacred item being ruined, or to avoid whatever explosion would take place when the moon’s fingers grazed against his own, James wasn’t sure.

Stuck in the air, Spock’s fingers stood paused and outstretched, before dropping back to his side.

“It looks like you’re breaking it,” Spock corrected, chin jutting out as he spoke. His voice still had a childish whine to it, despite his training in Vulcan traditions.

“I’m not. I know what I’m doing.” Kirk did not, in fact, know what he was doing. His fingers had been scrabbling at the box for hours, digging his nails into the little cracks he had made, splitting and encouraging it to fall open at his hands. There must be something inside, some secret he was missing. The curling wire was just the first clue.

“It would be more logical to use some kind of tools if you plan to continue trying to break it open,” Spock deduced, hands folding neatly behind his back. Instead of responding, James fixed his attentions back on the box. A jagged hole surrounded the protruding wire, and James tried to force his finger in. The harsh spike cut into his flesh, Kirk quickly lifting his finger to his lips to suck off the blood. The show was viewed by Spock the same way one would view a new animal breed released into the wild, curious but apprehensive.

“Is that your mother over there?” Two pair of eyes slid over to the woman, who wore a small smile at the sight of her son finally talking to someone. At the stare, her own redirected to some far off-place, to show she hadn’t been staring.

“Yes.” It lasted barely a heartbeat, but Kirk was sure the edge of Spock’s lip twitched upwards at the confirmation. So, the moon could smile.

“Why are your ears different to hers?” Finger tugging from between Kirk’s lips, he pressed it just below his earlobe. He wondered what the strange ears would feel like to the touch.

“Genetically, they were given from my father. Most of my biology is Vulcan.” His eyes were human, with what should have been unrelenting steel blurring into softness, but Kirk noted this only privately. “Didn’t you get anything from your father?”

A pause passed between them, something glassy and unreadable passing in James’ gaze. Spock didn’t notice his mistake, simply waited patiently for an answer; it was not uncustomary for Vulcans to pause and collect their thoughts before responding. It was likely Kirk was just untangling the parts of him that belonged to his mother and to his father, looking at himself as a collection of parts rather than a whole.

“This box,” Jim spoke into the silence between them, breathing life into the dead with his words, “it was from my father.”

Whatever reply held on Spock’s tongue was swallowed by the voice of his mother, calling the young boy to her. The sun had lowered in the distance, the symphony of child-like excitement dying into yawns. The monkey bars behind them had turned cold. It was time for the stranger to leave.

“I’m Spock,” he said. A goodbye took the form of a greeting, and Kirk responded by holding out his hand.

“James T. Kirk. The T stands for trouble.” Accepting this as fact, Spock stared at the hand for a long moment, before reaching toward them. Sun brightening moon, the shake was more a soft press of fingers against fingers, before Spock was quickly departing.

Kirk curled his tingling fingers into a fist around the box, and stared.

* * *

 

Their first summer together was a haze, a collection of memories they were too young to individualize – the moments they spent together could have spanned seconds or years, and it would have made no difference. It was a summer of feeling, rather than events. Words were distorted, the vaguest snippets of conversation pieced together only after hard thought, but the aura of boyish discovery was ingrained.

James swore he had touched Spock’s ears after only a week of knowing him; the Vulcan protested it had come years later, at least four summers into their budding friendship, but Kirk was not easily dissuaded. 

The afternoon heat flooded the room, a tidal wave hot enough to char skin. Windows had been heaved open to tempt a cold breeze, but none greeted them. The heat had coaxed Jim from his shirt, pants rolled at the knee, as he laid spread on the ground. Occasional spurts of coolness found him when he touched a new part of the carpeted floor, temporary relief, before he moved around his room to find the treasure.

Kneeling on the ground, Spock was the centrepiece of Kirk’s bedroom. Rather than repelling the oppressive heat, he welcomed it – it reminded him of home. It was at that moment (though, Spock argued the ear touching and the robe argument did not occur simultaneously) Kirk asked about the black dress Spock wore.

“They are traditional. And they are robes, not a dress.”

“Looks like a dress.”

Despite claims of being able to contain his emotions, Kirk could easily trace the pained expression on his face. “It’s a robe,” he said, voice too tight to be measured. In response, James’ mouth broke into a smile, soft laugher pooling from the cupid bow of his lips.

Spock thought the noise was a testament to everything James embodied. Sunlight and brightness, an ocean existing on his lips, warmth rather than heat. The weather was a pleasant reminder of home, but James summoned memories of the stars in between.

“How come your dress is black?”

“Vulcans prefer to wear dull colours. That’s why my _robe_ is black.”

“Isn’t it getting too warm in them?”

Spock described his homeland in only the most basic detail. The heat that prevailed, Iowa being colder than a winter in his homeland, and the desert land that pieced together to form Vulcan. He didn’t detail his hiding places in the vast land, or what patches of sand summoned childhood memories of softer times; it was a tourist outline of his home, robotic and monotonous. “Vulcans are cold to the touch,” he concluded.

Jim rose from the floor, fixing his gaze on Spock. The latter shunned from his gaze, fear of being blinded hurrying his eyes over to the window.

“Cold?” The word could have been a stutter or a cough on Kirk’s lips, before he was pushing away from the floor and toward Spock, quicker than a flash. His open palms met the cold cheeks, hiding the green flush. A sigh of relief rushed from Kirk’s lips. If the sun could reach out and grasp the moon, Spock was sure it would feel like this; eternal and brilliant, a spark jumping from his skin and pulsing into James’ fingers.

There was no sound as the two sat inches apart, knees pressed against each other. Even their breaths seemed silent, passing over each other’s lips and into the other’s mouth, Kirk leaning ever closer. His fingers slipped past the cool skin of his cheeks, sliding further up until his fingertips slid over Spock’s ears.

Despite himself, the Vulcan gasped. A rush of air spread over James’ lips, his tongue licking at his bottom lip as if to taste Spock’s breath from where it had touched him.

Clarity bled from the moment. Whether they had stayed there for seconds or for hours was unknown to the two boys, both lost in the serenity of touching and being touched, a luxury they had both not experienced in a long while. It became just another afternoon in the stretch of the summer, muddled between the oppressive heat and the murmured words passed between them.

It joined the grimace on Spock’s face as he tasted his first ice cream, the icy sweetness too much for his tongue. It slotted itself between days spent lying on the grass as day became night, counting constellations with the points of their fingers; Spock listed his favourite stars, neglecting to mention only one – the one lying beside him, illuminating a sky too far out of reach. Jim spoke of his love for the moon as if it was a woman, proposing his mediocre heart into the night, and wondering what planets laid beyond. The touches spared that night became just another memory among the touch of their shoulders when they sat too close, the brush of Jim’s hand through Spock’s hair, the press of the blonde’s knuckle against his cheek when they slept.

Amanda once cooed that Spock was growing more affectionate with every summer spent on Earth, and Spock had simply asked when they would be leaving for home.

* * *

 

James measured his recklessness in relation to the summers he spent with Spock; it was two week after Spock left their third summer together that Jim stole a car. Maybe it was to cure a sudden loneliness that resonated within him, a wilting flower existing where his heart should blossom. Maybe it was no more cause and effect than a star exploding and a child laughing. Either way, the cold air running through his hair reminded him of when Spock’s fingertips had been there.

His scolding was a short phone conversation with his mother, a warning about his behaviour, a record marking _James T. Kirk_ as a bad kid. As he promised to never to do it again, he slipped the car keys into his pocket, fist wrapped around them.

Two days after the car incident, before the news had even reached Spock, the Vulcan’s fist made impact into another boy’s cheek. He mirrored the movements he’d once seen Jim inflict, arms swinging forward in the same way he had been taught. Green colours his knuckles a darker shade, before his hands turn numb, his onslaught turning instead to screams and fingernails, clawing at the face in front of him.

His father sat beside him, a silent presence that feels far worse than any scolding could. His lip was split, blood drying over the wound, and bruises were blooming over his knuckles. He turned his hand over, refusing to stare at the destruction he had caused on his own body.

“Why did you marry a human?” Staring at his open palm, Spock recalled the moment Kirk had grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, too eager to show him something; it took him a while to calm himself enough to explain that his hands were sensitive, like a human’s lip, used for human kissing more than touching.

His original question of ‘how could you marry a human?’ was no longer of use. Spock thought of blond hair and soft smiles, of the ease of happiness and sadness, of the first time Jim had cried in front of him, tears rolling down his cheeks like shooting stars blazing across a galaxy. He thought of all the things that made a human, that made Jim, and he understood the _how._

Sarek’s voice softened into something unfamiliar as he explained himself, citing love as the main culprit in his downfall.

Spock does not linger on history repeating itself, or the throbbing pain in his fingers. Instead, he excused himself to his room, and counted constellations in his head until he could sleep.

* * *

 

Strewn across James’ bed were bottles of schnapps and chocolate bars wrapped in shiny packaging, urging children not to eat too much, but assuring a little never hurt. It held no warnings against Vulcan children and the possible effects on them. The alcohol, as Jim proudly announced, was also chocolate-flavoured. The two boys sat cross-legged on the bed, knees touching, as they passed a bottle between each other and split pieces of chocolate.

Each bite made Spock wince.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Jim asked through a mouthful of alcohol, wiping at his lips and passing it over to Spock.

The act itself was certainly unhygienic, the rim of the bottle still shiny from where James’ lips had touched it, and Spock would never condone the act with anyone else. But it was Jim, and Spock placed his lips to the neck with the same solemn reverence of a man taking communion.

“James, Vulcans do not waste their time picking favourites of things that are useless.”  Jim laughed, bright and deep, as if Spock had uttered a joke. His hand reached out to grab the bottle, fingers dragging over Spock’s knuckles with the movement. The Vulcan shivered, holding on for a moment too long before letting go. The chocolate was surely to blame, intoxicating his actions into a sluggish pace.

“I told you to call me Jim,” the blonde corrected, knocking his knee against Spock’s. The alcohol washed over his tongue, cleansing him with the sticky sweetness of it. “And you have to have a favourite. Everyone does.”

“You cannot prove that everyone in the universe has a favourite colour.” He eyed the bottle still held in James’ hand, longing to press his lips against the rim once more, but the blonde seemed rather attached. Instead, he broke off another piece of chocolate, indulging himself in the lightness it gave him.

“Come on. Just pick one right now. If you could only look at one colour for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Blue.” His answer was too quick, like it had been waiting unrealized on the edge of his tongue for quite some time; he’d never actively placed any thought into it, but it sounded right as it left his lips. Blue mirrored human oceans, vast and untouchable water, and morning skies when summer struck. Vulcan was softer colours, duller colours, warmer colours; blue was a home he was part of, but didn’t belong to. It was the colour of Jim’s eyes, alive and endearing as they sparkled, carrying oceans and skies and home in his gaze. “What’s yours?”

“Oh, I don’t really have one,” Jim teased, lifting the bottle to his lips. He drank down the rest of the alcohol, gulping until the bottle was empty, before picking another bottle from the bed. “Ask me another question.”

Spock hadn’t realized the two were playing a game, but the warmth in Jim’s smile tempted him. “What is your middle name?”

“I’ve told you, it’s ‘Trouble’.”

“That is false.” It may have tricked him when he was younger, all human names sounding odd to him, trickling off his tongue. ‘Trouble’ was just another confusing name the humans doled upon their children.

“Fine, fine. It’s ‘Totally Handsome’.”

“That is also false.”

“You wound me.” His fingers flutter over his heart, to show the depth of the hurt he felt at Spock’s allegations. The Vulcan thought about how it would feel to have the comforting thump below his fingers, to listen to the jagged heartbeat through his touch. Another piece of chocolate dissolved on his tongue as he dwelled on his thoughts, watching Jim’s fingers drop away from his chest. “It’s ‘Tiberius.”

Spock paused, nodding when he decided that was a believable name. “Would you like me to call you Tiberius?”

“No, that isn’t my first name.”

“Neither is Jim.”

Laughter pooled into the air, breathed from Jim’s lips; in that moment, it lived only for Spock’s pleasure. The two found each other’s gaze, neither commenting on the small smile gracing the Vulcan’s lips for fear it would disappear if it was noticed, lamenting on their next move with an intensity only drunks could muster. Spock’s fingers reach out to the stash of chocolate he had been eating, fingers empty as they lifted back to his lips.

“It seems I have eaten all my chocolate.” His tone had lost its rigid nature, flowing into something softer as he held up the empty packaging. His voice verged on slurring, too much emphasis rolling on the end of his tongue.

“You can share mine.” The piece Kirk held between his fingers wasn’t the neat little squares Spock had been breaking off. It had jagged lines, split from the bar haphazardly, like some broken puzzle piece. One hand steadying himself on the bed, Spock leaned forward to grab the offered chocolate, but it was drawn back when he came too close.

“Did I mishear you? I thought you said we were sharing.” Spock’s hand stayed suspended in the air, reaching out blindly for Jim. The blond held the treat just out of reach, taunting the Vulcan with it.

“Come closer,” Jim beckoned, hand placed behind him to steady himself as he leaned backwards.

“Why must I?”

“Did you know chocolate was traditionally fed by hand?” The chocolate began to melt, staining Jim’s fingers. Spock, repeating a gesture he had only ever seen and never recreated, licked his lips.

“That is false.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Finally, Spock’s hand dropped back to his lap. Jim made a compelling argument.

As if understanding there had been some silent agreement, Jim extended the piece of chocolate once more, holding it in the limbo between their bodies. Spock leaned closer until his breath warmed the chocolate, eyes lifting to meet with Jim’s gaze. The pair seemed wobbly, on the wrong side of giggly, but Spock still closed his lips around the sweet.

Taste exploded over his tongue, somehow heavier than the sweets he’d tasted before. Jim’s fingers didn’t move as Spock bit into the chocolate, mouth brushing them as he bit down. Not bothering to pull back, Spock moved forward again, bottom lip nudging against Jim’s fingers. Neither made a move. The chocolate was melting in the heat of Spock’s mouth, so he pushed forward, watching Jim’s fingers hurry from him so he could bite at more of the chocolate.

His tongue touched Jim’s fingers, and the blond gasped, pulling away from him.

“Blushing is illogical. It in no way deals with the embarrassment you must feel,” Spock murmured around the chocolate, pulling back from Jim to rest against the bed. He concluded that he was almost certainly drunk. Jim looked rather handsome to his fuzzy mind. He glanced at the chocolate seated next to him, wondering how appropriate it would be to ask for more, just to feel Jim’s fingers on his tongue again.

“Shut up,” Jim laughed, reaching out a foot to poke at Spock. The Vulcan leaned out of reach to avoid the assault. “If I’m embarrassed, it’s because you’re embarrassing.”

Spock watched as Jim stared at his fingers for a long moment and then, as if speaking into the silence that laid between them, lifted them to touch at his lips.

* * *

 

Night had brought cool air, every window cracked open to welcome the sacred breeze, the stifling heat subsiding for a moment. The curtains lifted sadly, trapped in the flow of air, before settling against the window panes. The lacklustre day had changed into a night of half-life, the haze making every creature too lazy to move, but the world itself buzzed with need.

Jim’s fingers mirrored that need, sneaking below the thin covers.

It had been two weeks since Spock had left, and the ache in his heart had moved to his cock. The Vulcan had grown more conservative, tone losing its boyish softness and instead crafting itself into a distanced twang, but Jim was too far gone to care. He’d even managed to get over the eyebrows.

His hand pushed beneath his sweatpants, relief flooding him as his hand wrapped around his cock. He was already hard, throbbing into his hand. Jim pressed his knuckles to his lips, muffling groans and whimpers as he began to move his hand.

His teeth caught on his knuckle, pumping slowly at his cock, drawing pleasure from himself. He arched into the touch, back lifting off the bed, thumb tracing circles over the head of his cock. It had been too long since he’d last indulged in this kind of pleasure, a summer wasted with Spock laid beside him each night and trailing behind him every day meant very little private time.

Thoughts of Spock came passively; he didn’t try to think about the boy, but he couldn’t help the way he appeared in these moments. With his eyes closed, the vision of Spock seemed to be etched into his eyelids.

He imagined the press of Spock’s lips, tinged slightly green, against his cock. His mouth would no doubt be plush, colder than a human’s, his movements sloppy and inexperienced. But Spock was nothing if not an overachiever. He could practically trace the concentration on the Vulcan’s face as he tried to force every inch into his mouth, hand pumping at what he couldn’t lap at.

He wasn’t particularly sure about the workings of Vulcan gag reflexes, but he groaned at the thought of making Spock gag. His locks would feel silky beneath Jim’s fingers as he lifted his hips, feeling Spock’s throat close around the head of his cock at the sudden pressure, spit lavishing his cock before Spock pulled away from him. Jim thought about how pretty Spock would look with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, wiping away at the spit that still clung to his lips.

It wouldn’t take him long to finish at the sight. Come covered his fingers, back hitting the bed as deep pants filled the air, as if he hadn’t been breathing until that moment. Jim thought about the press of Spock’s body as they wrapped around each other, his arm looping around the boy’s waist to tug him closer, the heavy weight of his head resting against the blond’s shoulder.

He was so fucked.

* * *

 

It had taken seventeen years, a few soft words from his mother, and the constant mocking from Jim before Spock came to Earth wearing something other than his robes. The change, at least, made him feel more grounded to Earth rather than floating in the space between the two planets. His body still distanced him as other, a separate entity to the creatures that wandered by and stared, but he was attempting to blend in with them.

Besides, his fears of looking off were averted when Jim’s fingers hooked into the holes of his sweater, pulling him closer.

“You almost look normal,” Jim teased, pressing his palm to Spock’s shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles in his sweater. His tone was as warm as early morning air, the two of them rising together to sit across from each other and talk. It seemed to be their most favourite pastime. Leaving Jim’s house only came in short bursts; to journey to the shops to buy something, to say hello to Spock’s mother in case she started to worry, or to walk together in comfortable silence so Jim could show him the beauties of Iowa (admittedly, they were very little).

Spock smoothed his fingers along his pants, the black material stretching beneath his touch. “Your version of normal simply differs from my own. The robes were more freeing.”

Jim’s thumb hooked into another hole, wiggling his finger until it grew, and Spock decided he felt rather free, robe or not. The thumb dragged across his bare skin, slow and methodical, testing.

“Either way, you look good like this.” Jim’s smile was a star in its own right, navigating him across an inky abyss. His fingers twitched with the need to touch it.

“It is entirely likely that you also look good.” Sun peeked through the windows, falling in slats over Jim’s face; he had never looked more fitting.

“Spock, was that a compliment?”

“Do not insult me.” The presence of Jim had always made him feel softer, hardened edges crumbling apart. He leaned into the touch, fingers cold as they stroked over his skin, untouched by the cool air. Jim touched lightly, softly, as if tempting a wild animal into cooperation – Spock didn’t bother mentioning that he needed no temptation to be touched by the boy. “May I ask a question, James?”

“You may,” Jim hummed, drawing his finger away from the smooth skin. Spock resisted the urge to chase after the retreating hands, trained in self-denial.

“Why do you value that box so highly?” Two pair of eyes turned toward the box, more wires now spilling from inside. The holes were jagged and small, blue and red entangled around it.

The air between them stilled. Jim’s even breaths, that had been disturbing the air between them into coolness, settled and stopped. His entire being seemed stuck, like a hologram placed on pause, seconds away from faltering and shutting down. He seemed to be mimicking the box itself, sitting inconspicuously alone, like it had all the capabilities to move and yet decided against it. It seemed to lounge by itself, looking relaxed and resigned.

“It was from my dad.” The air between them bulged and pulsed, a thousand implications lying stagnant in the statement. He’d heard that before, a secret passed in their first meeting, but he longed for more as if the essence of Jim was trapped in the box.

Jim spoke rarely of his family, and Spock didn’t press. He knew that his father wasn’t around anymore, that he disagreed regularly with his step-father, and that his mother was often travelling. In return, Jim knew that Spock’s mother was human and his father was a Vulcan, and that he cared for them both dearly – though, the last part was never said explicitly. “I don’t…really know what it does, though. My mom just said there was something inside. Can I ask you something, Spock?”

A forlorn expression morphed into a smirk as he closed the topic, moving quickly onto something new. Spock was still trying to process the information, to sort it into its own neat box of facts about everything concerning Jim, but he was started out of his meditations. “It is only fair as I have asked one of you. Proceed.”

Chin resting on his knuckles, Jim’s smile stayed ever intact as he leaned forward. The space between them disappeared, two pieces of debris caught in each other’s orbit. Spock knew that perfection was illogically impossible, the smoothest of surfaces still holding cracks when examined at a microscopic level, but his eyes traced the lines of Jim’s smile and only the word ‘perfection’ came to mind; Jim had never been logically consistent, anyway.

“Have you ever been kissed?” His voice was too gleeful to be gentle, but there was a soothing quality to it. It lulled secrets from Spock.

“In the human sense of the word, no, I have not been kissed.” It had never been inviting, the lips of human’s too pink and soft, verging on warmth but never quite there. He thought he may just be able to withstand Jim’s lips, though.

“And in the Vulcan sense?”

“If you exclude the time you took my hand, also no.”

Jim snorted at him, smile spreading further over his face like spilled ink. “You can’t start with ‘in the human sense, no’, without it happening in the Vulcan sense, either. It’s misleading.”

“I was simply unsure whether the incident with you counted. I shall refrain from doing so in the future.”

The soft press of Kirk’s hand against his own flashed through his mind, the brush of skin against skin, a hint of intimacy stolen before he had forced himself to pull away. It was wrong to lead Jim into a kiss without the human fully understanding the effect it had on the Vulcan.

“Good,” Jim nodded, tongue wetting his lips, Spock closely following the movement.

There were no more words spared, but a silent understanding seemed to have been reached. Jim closed the space between him, leaning forward and dragging Spock forward by his cardigan. The two breathed into the orbit that sustained him, the space between two planets in which they both existed together.

Jim’s lips met Spock’s, and they paused for the impact, the inevitable explosion of a warm star meeting cool rock. Everything stilled. The explosion passed, undisturbed, and the two boys learned to breathe together.

Spock’s lips parted, Jim’s following the movement. It as jagged and uncoordinated, stalling the kiss every few seconds to fit together better, before restarting. They guided each other, trying to learn what the other liked by listening to hitched breaths and swallowed moans, a symphony of pleasure accompanying the press of lips.

Drawing away first, Spock lifted a hand to his lips and tried to regain his breathing. He took shallow breaths, slow and measured, dropping his fingers to his lap.

Far from finished, Jim took his hand and pressed their palms together. “Is it…like this?”

Shaking his head, Spock extended his pointer and middle finger, the others closing into a fist. Jim copied the movement. Satisfied with the result, Spock pressed the fingers together, curling them around each other. It brought no pleasure to the human directly, for it existed entirely for Spock, but it was worth it to watch the green blush spread like wildfire over his normally composed features.

Jim leaned forward and traced his lips across the wildfire, a gasp leaving Spock’s lips.

“Now,” Jim began, tone clinical through his humour, “you can tell everyone you’ve had both.”

“No one particularly asks such personal questions on Vulcan.” He would keep this just for himself.

* * *

 

Though gentle warmth shines in Amanda’s smile, Jim could tell he was being scrutinized. Her smile was too sickly-sweet, tempting secrets from him, like he was keeping something dastardly from her. She doled questions out with genuine interest, only prying slightly, with Spock diverting any questions he wasn’t ready for Jim to answer. Her eyes spoke louder than her voice though, just as soft and sweet as everything else about her, and they told him not to hurt her son.

“Don’t you think Spock looks more handsome now he’s abandoned the robes?” Bringing three plates to the table, she sets out the desert. The question seemed to catch Spock’s interest, head turning slightly toward him, awaiting an answer. Amanda stuck him with her glowing-eyed smile.

“I think he always looks nice.” She spread more cream over the desert, indicating silently that he had given the right answer. In unison, as if their bodies were linked, the two boys sighed in relief.

“I’ve always liked visiting Earth. The food on Vulcan can get quite bland, they aren’t big on the delight of food,” Amanda sighed, sitting down and smoothing over her dress. Her robe.

“They just haven’t eaten anything baked by you, Mrs...Amanda.”

“Amanda is just fine.”

Beneath the table, cold palms pressed against Jim’s, his skin feeling strangely heated against the cooling presence. A finger trailed over his knuckles, tracing circles into the skin. The two used their spare hand to eat the cake, slower than the dinner itself now they were lacking a hand; Jim, however, thought there was nothing lacking about the touch.

* * *

 

As their eighteenth year struck (maybe even more for Spock, James hadn’t thought to ask), neither mentioned this was the last summer they were likely to spend together. Spock’s mother would no longer be forcing him to Earth, and the two would certainly drift apart when other endeavours became more pressing.

Futures were not discussed. They were filled with too many maybes, threatening to overspill with plans they weren’t ready to make, promises they weren’t ready to keep, like a dark raincloud clocking their every movements. Any plans for the years to come, the lifetime that stretched far past their teenage years into the unknown, belonged solely to themselves.

Always had only ever been an implication for them. Forever was a notion that was silently agreed upon. No concrete plan directed them; they just hoped, with bitter longing, that the other’s orbit would be another to sustain them.

“In a few days, I shall leave for Vulcan.” The words were spoken with a sense of finality, a closing scene in a half-completed play. They had already skipped to the end.

Sprawled together in the afternoon sun, their bodies interlaced. Spock had been nurtured into intimacy, the softer touches of Jim’s hands forcing him into pliability – he would reject such touches from anyone else, but Jim was special; they had grown up beside each other, sharing their first touches together like savoured secrets. His arm stretched over Jim’s waist, turned to his side while the blond laid flat on his back.

Rather than responding to him, Jim made constellations of the patterns on his ceiling. He counted them, as singularities and then as pairs, trying to distinguish himself from the tug of Spock’s voice.

“It’s unlikely we shall see each other for a while.”

With Spock’s fingers splayed over Jim’s chest, he was in the perfect position to feel the sudden intake of breath, flowing from his fingertips to his knuckles. He let it go with the same rushed temp, spilling from his pink lips. “Yes.” His tone was measured, concise in the entirety it conveyed; Spock would compliment him on being so incredibly Vulcan-like. “But it’s like that after every summer, isn’t it?” A hint of desperation creeped into his voice, pleading to drop the subject.

“This is different.”

“Why does it have to be different? You can visit me just as easily, even without your mom to bring you. Right?” His pleading voice still laced his words, tongue heavy with the stunted topic; there were too many maybes here. He needed the certainty of a yes.

“You plan to stay on Earth.”

Spock held his gaze, challenging a decision from him. Jim was fine numbing himself with their limbo, but Spock needed a decision. He wouldn’t sit idle while Jim wasted his intelligence. “You plan to stay on Vulcan.”

“That is not true. I believe it would be in my best interest to join the Starfleet Academy.”

A thousand potentials had laid between them, but Kirk was still shocked into silence at the path Spock had chosen. In his starlit visions of the future, he had not accounted for Spock ever leaving Vulcan, just as he had never thought about leaving Earth. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. But his thoughts were the most abstract creations, flashes of stars and light and galaxies, possibilities laying just beyond the reach of his fingertips.

He lifted his hand, tracing over Spock’s greenish knuckles, the skin stretching from how tense he had become.

“Come with me.”

“You know I can’t just – “

“James,” Spock interrupted, a bad habit learned from the blond. He would be sure to rectify it before he left. “Come with me. You were not made for Earth.”

Kirk blinked at him, staring at Spock like it was the first time they had ever seen each other, wide-eyed curiosity and apprehension. Spock was an unexplored anomaly. He would have to approach carefully.

“You were made for the stars. For things bigger than what have been explored.” Spock paused, clearing his throat. “I’m speaking of things that don’t quite make sense.”

Softly, Jim pressed their lips together, and felt a universe of futures melt away. “I think I was just made for wherever you are,” Kirk mumbled against Spock’s lips, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers gripped at the boy’s hips, bodies slotting together, aligning.

On the desk behind him, a stem rose from the silky black box, replacing what had been a wire.

**Author's Note:**

> please remember to comment and leave kudos! thank you!


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